Monday, 2 February 2015

A Kick In The Teeth

Rejection. It’s the one thing you can be sure of in this
job. It just comes with the territory. It’s part of the learning curve. It
makes you a better writer in the long run. You just have to get used to it.
That’s what everyone says.

And they’re right. Still, fifteen years into my writing
career and it’s really not getting any easier. Every ‘no’ is still a hefty kick
in the stomach. So, perhaps what we really learn from rejection is how to cover
up how painful and demoralising a rejection can be. I’m not saying that’s a bad
thing. It’s a coping mechanism. And if we wailed and gnashed our teeth every
time we got a ‘thanks, but no thanks’ then we’d have no teeth left.

We’re all so good at putting on our brave faces, but I want
to let mine slip just for a few minutes. I want to acknowledge how it feels to
have something you’ve worked so hard on put in the round file.

It starts with the phone call or the email. Your heart
leaps when the phone rings or the inbox pings. This is the news you’ve been
waiting for, even though you’ve been pretending otherwise. You’ve played it
cool, tried get on with other things, tried not to get your hopes up. But, no news
is good news, right? Wrong. You know it’s not good news from the opening
sentence, the tone of voice, the opening apology. “Sorry it’s not better news”. Often there is an explanation, a few cursory notes about tone, timing or depth.
A phrase that is used a lot is “We just couldn’t see it”. The thing is, I
could. I could see it glorious Technicolor, breathtaking Cinemascope and
Stereophonic sound. But, obviously, I couldn’t get you to see it.

So, the first feeling that floods over you after you put the
phone down is a sting of shame. Yes, shame.

I love being a writer but I can’t shake the feeling that
it’s a slightly ludicrous occupation. Partly because it is a bit crazy to spend
your days getting imaginary people to talk to each other for a living. And
partly because I can’t help feeling that waking up one morning and declaring
myself a writer was an act of vainglorious self-delusion. Who the fuck did I
think I was? And from the moment that you make that declaration you’re waiting
to be found out. You’re waiting for someone to tap you on the shoulder and tell
you to stop making such a damn fool of yourself and get a proper bloody job.

And that’s what every rejection feels like. Someone telling
you to grow up and stop kidding yourself.

And then you have to compound the shame by telling other
people about the rejection; your agent, your friends, your parents. You instantly
regret telling them about having something in development. You wish you hadn’t told
them that you ‘had a good feeling about this one’. Of course, you played it
down and told everyone that the odds of getting it away were slim, but still…
And they all smiled and did that little mime, the crossed fingers. And then
they told you that it was ‘your turn’ and ‘about time’; except you know that it
just does not work like that.

Still, after the shame comes the anger. Why can’t those
bloody idiots see what’s under their noses? Don’t they know how much work you
put into this? You listened to their notes, you did what they asked and it
still wasn’t enough. That’s when you start coming up with the conspiracy
theories.

“They ruined my
beautiful idea with their crap notes.” If they were so crap you should have
said so. "They’re scared of my uncompromising tone and controversial subject
matter.” Hmm, probably not. “They like the idea, they’re just going steal it
and get someone else to write it.” Don’t be so bloody stupid. So, if you can’t
blame the commissioners and development execs, who do you blame? Look in the
mirror.

The truth is that it doesn’t just feel like your idea has
been rejected, it’s feels like you’ve been rejected. My most recent knockback
was a doozy. It unfortunately coincided with me attending a conference where
lots of writers sat on panels talking about their big, successful shows.
Usually, I find that sort of thing invigorating. Mostly writers love to hear
about other writer’s successes. It means it’s possible. Every commissioning
story is proof that if you build it, they will come.

But this time, it’s not how I felt. I looked at my
colleagues and I felt jealous. Not the good, motivating kind of jealousy; the
twisting, bitter kind. I started to list the things that were wrong with me. I
was too fat to be taken seriously. I wear the wrong clothes. My haircut is
wrong. My accent is too Northern, too coarse. I shoot my mouth off too easily.

By the time I went back to my hotel I had resolved to delete
my blog. I was going to get liposuction, elocution lessons and a wig. I wanted
to throw my jeans and baseball boots away and replace them with one of those
great little black dresses that Nicola Shindler wears so well. I wanted
sparkly, kick-ass boots like Hilary Martin was wearing.

I wanted to be someone else.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt that way, but it’s the
first time that writing has made me feel that way. So, how did I get myself out
of this shame spiral? I did what I should have done in the first place. I wrote
my damn way out of it. I wrote this blog. I finished a pitch document that I’d
been buggering about with for weeks and sent it off. I went to talk to a friend
about us making a short film.

I cannot change who I am. And who I am is my writing. The
moment I try to be something I am not, is the moment I should pack it in and
call it a day.

And so, here I am coming out the other side. Like we all do,
all the time. It’s fucking hard work. It knocks a bit of your stuffing out
every time it happens. And I just wanted to acknowledge how hard it is for all
of us. I missed out the most important stage of the rejection process, but it’s
the most important one; telling other writers that you’ve had a knockback.
Because other writers will be hurt for you, angry for you, they’ll tell you not
to give up and they’ll mean every damn word. I know I do.

16 comments:

What morons they must be. Obviously devoid of all taste. I hope your project is resurrected at some point, or morphs into something else which gets produced. Keep on writing down your imaginary friends' conversations. Your next success is just around the corner (over the next hill, waiting to jump out when you least expect it...)

Lisa, you are bloody fantastic. I, for one, have a great deal of respect and admiration for you - even more so for posting this. You don't sugar coat and you don't kowtow. And you know what that means; when your persistence pays off and you're writing the show you want to write more than anything, it's going to be freaking epic.

I feel your pain. But you are still writing. Still creating. If it were easy everyone would do it. They can't. You can. At least you are still going, and importantly, still sending your work out there. There are no end of reasons for them to say no, and it frequently has nothing to do with what you have written. So keep plugging. I think I need some of your honesty and determination myself. Thanks for the post.

Hopefully that was cathartic and so well written I felt every bit of the emotion you went through. Belief in yourself has to triumph over lack of vision in others. I won't say good luck because luck has very little to do with it but I will say best wishes that you achieve the success you are working so hard for.

It's not help, but "I know how you feel". I've been writing for over 20 years and rejection is always a kick in the groin. I'm generally okay with it when they say "We can see why xyz liked it, but it's not for us", but there is only so much you can take before you want to scream - no matter how talented, decent and lovely you may be. Around Christmas time I was literally three seconds from quitting every day. Just like Truman Burbank did - tie yourself to the boat and wait for the storm to pass. Don't give up.

Thank-you for this Lisa. All I can say is keep to your own script. That is the original, and don't lose track of the 'YOU' in your writing. Rejection hurts, but it is the decision of such a few people. Find those people who like your writing. Tough advice, - but they are there Lisa. Keep on writing from 'YOU' and you will rise.

Thank you so much for you honesty and for your determination - it gives the rest of us strength to keep on writing. Making a short film sounds like a great antidote to the torturous waiting game of hoping that others will believe in our work enough to produce it. Good luck!

Lisa, wow. What an honest post that's so appreciated and certainly makes you feel less alone with what we go through. You've really hit some notes here close to my own heart. And I admire you all the more for this breath of honesty. Amazing how we all cover up how much it affects us. Just want to say, I've met you - only once, but enough to find out in a few hours you are so inspiring, hilariously funny with an amazing honest spirit. You are an amazing writer - amazing person and you don't need to change a single thing about you :)

Thank you so much for all the kind words. It's good to know that the writing community is just that - a community. I've had wonderful words of support and I've been able to return the kindness. I'm sure we're all putting our brave faces back on, but hopefully with the understanding that everyone wears the mask. Keep on keeping on and don't let the bastards gridyou down. And if they do, reach out.

I believe in you! Right from your standout episode in 'Fat Friends' - absolutely wonderful! I've just been reading your episode for Waterloo road, the first episode of series 4. Again, its fantastic! I hope one day we get to see a series that you haven't just contributed but created! =)

About Me

TV Writer and all-round Leeds-based gobshite. I've written episodes of Fat Friends, Emmerdale, New Tricks, Robin Hood and Waterloo Road. Wrote one experimental radio play, Bitter Pill, but I didn't inhale. Now developing various projects (that's how you say it, isn't it?).